


The Cafe Between The Worlds

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Arthur, BAMF Merlin, Canon Compliant, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Saving the World, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the worlds, woven into the fabric of the universe, there lies a cafe. Or an inn, or a tavern, or, in some dimensions, a bistro. It provides sanctuary, a rest for the weary traveller, and jolly decent blueberry muffins. As the worlds around are threatened by a deadly menace, a group of desperadoes gathers there. But can they avert the impending apocalypse? </p><p>Warnings for canon-appropriate violence, whimsy, overblown analogies, Arthurian references, characters that have been resurrected for no apparent reason other than that the author thinks they should be, and a post-5.13 fix-it of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cafe Between The Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following Merlin Writers Tropes Bingo squares: Apocalypse, coffee shop, disabled character. Grettir is the disabled character, although he's also completely BAMF.

“The cafe between the worlds has been many things,” said Grettir, raising his blade. “Tavern, inn, wine bar, milk bar, sports bar, curry house, tea rooms, bistro…”

“Bistro?” The King looked puzzled.

“Yeah. Bit of an unsuccessful experiment, that one. Anyway. It’s not a glorified branch of Starbucks, is what I’m saying. No weapons.”

The King rolled his eyes.

“Step aside, I’m weary.” His cloak did look rather tattered. Stains smudged it that Grettir didn’t want to examine too closely.

“No weapons! All enmity must be put aside before entering.”

There were those who questioned the wisdom of having such a diminutive guardian of the gate. But Grettir knew that he was the best at this job - which, after all, was to ensure that only the worthy were permitted to enter. It was amazing how many idiots couldn’t see past his size. He could filter out ninety percent of the unworthy just by gauging their attitude. This one hadn’t reached straight for his sword, nor had he attempted to push past. And he hadn’t resorted to insulting Grettir based on his size, either. Things were looking promising.

“It takes Courage to enter the cafe between the worlds. Aye, and you will need Strength to remain.” Grettir had to issue these cryptic comments from time to time while he was disarming the assorted people, creatures, beasts and undead who assembled here. It was expected. “But you will need Magic to leave it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Shame no-one thought to invite Intelligence,” muttered Grettir under his breath.

The King must have heard, because he scowled.

“Well, I suppose that Insolence just turned up uninvited.”

Grettir laughed.

“Well met, Your Majesty. You have no idea how thick some of the people who show up here can be. It’s refreshing to meet someone who has two brain cells to rub together. Now, ditch the cutlery. You know the drill.”

“ _Cutlery?_ ” Frowning, and keeping his eyes on Grettir’s sword tip, the King started to unbuckle the scabbard. “Excalibur was forged by magic, in the breath of a dragon,” said he, his voice low and dangerous. “It hardly counts as _cutlery_. Guard it well, for in the wrong hands it could be deadly.”

“Save your breath.” Grettir had heard a million different variations on this speech. Peering more closely at the King, he added. “Hey. Haven’t I seen you before?”

The King nodded.

“I remember you. You were the gatekeeper on my quest, when I was but a Prince.”

“Well remembered, great King. Although the quest was not yours.”

“I think I’d remember if it was my quest or not! I retrieved the trident—”

Grettir laughed.

“You were deceived. The trident was merely a ruse. The real prize was a vial of sacred water from the holy lake of Avalon.”

“You talked in riddles even then, Gatekeeper.”

“Call me Grettir, please.”

“Nevertheless, what are you implying?” The King sat down heavily. “Don’t bother. I’ll work it out myself.” Retrieving his whetstone from a pocket, he polished the great sword until the stains were gone and it shone bright silver even in the dull half-light that suffused the sky between the worlds. “I suppose now that I was Courage,” he muttered. “Gwaine was Strength, and as for Magic…”

Lowering his sword, Grettir hopped down off his plinth and started to sharpen his own blade.

"Don't know why you're still sharpening your sword," he said. "It already looks pretty deadly from this angle."

“I find it helps me to think,” said the King, after a long silence, eyes round and dark in the livid light from the roiling heavens.

“You have grown wise, sire,” said Grettir. “The impetuous youth I met before had little time or patience for thinking.”

“And what of the one that you call Magic? How fares he?” Sighing, the King paused his hand, staring at Grettir as he waited for a response. 

“Alas, he sits by the lake, moping for his lost love.”

The King grunted.

“I have need of him. Hard times are coming. I had hoped to find him here. How shall I break through? I have tried everything I know, but the veil between the worlds remains intact.”

“There is no Magic within the cafe between the worlds," said Grettir. "But you will find Peace, Wisdom, Loyalty and Foresight. Perhaps between them they can help you find the answers you seek. But come, cast aside all weapons and enmity. They will not serve you here. The sword is ill-suited for solving some problems.”

Passing across his gleaming sword and its sheath, the King crossed the threshold.

Grettir leaped back onto his plinth.

*

Being a barista was nearly as much fun as being a barman, and certainly led to a lot fewer brawls and sore heads. Gwaine was almost reconciled to it. There was one element of serving customers in the cafe between the worlds that he’d never get used to, though. The whole issue of putting enmity aside - well, it just felt odd, that’s all.

Take now, for example. Here he was, preparing a large lemon iced tea for a High Priestess of the Old Religion, who also happened to be the person who had killed him, many centuries ago.

“Would you like extra ice with that?” he growled.

“No thank you, Gwaine dear.” Morgana smiled sweetly at him, patted his cheek, and then sashayed, there was no other word for what she was doing, over to where the Queen was sitting, nursing a skinny mochaccino, while her loyal champion, Leon, sipped a delicate cup of Earl Grey.

“What have I come to?” Gwaine asked his companion, who was sitting at the bar, swigging an Americano Grande, and tucking into one of Leon’s home-made blueberry muffins. It was a rhetorical question, for Percival rarely spoke.  

True to form, Percival grunted, popped the last morsel into his mouth, and continued to glare at the glowing vial of water on the bar in front of him.

“Still haven’t worked out what to do with it yet?” said Gwaine, nodding at the vial.

Percival shook his head.

“Weird,” Gwaine said, pulling some cups out of the dishwasher and then polishing them before placing them on the shelf. “I mean, you’d have thought that after taking the trouble to find you and tell you what had happened to Arthur, she’d tell you what it was for. Avalon water, you say?”

“Mmm.”

“And she told you to keep it safe… _even unto the world’s ending_ ” Gwaine let out a short laugh. “Well, you’d better work out what to do quickly,” he said, as a heavy thud shook the building, accompanied by a disembodied roar. “I mean, we’re protected, sure, but how long these wards will hold is anyone’s guess. I’m not sure how much time we’ve got left.”

At that moment the door was flung open wide, and Gwaine looked up in interest. Grettir hadn’t let anyone pass for many days. When the King stalked in, cloaked in Pendragon Red and high dudgeon. Gwaine couldn’t help it. His grin practically split his face in two.

“Well, well, well,” he crowed in delight. “If it isn’t the Princess himself!”

“Gwaine!” Arthur’s frown was replaced by an equally joyful grin as he strode across and wrapped the barista in a manly hug, all shoulder-bumping and overenthusiastic back-slapping. “And Percival!”

“Looks like the team’s getting back together,” said Gwaine, nodding over to the table where Gwen and Morgana were slowly rising to their feet, with Leon by their side.

There was a moment of tension while Arthur’s gaze took in the way that Gwen’s hand was joined to Leon’s. But then he smiled, mouth lopsided and wry, like the sun peeping out from one side of a black cloud, and Gwaine let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Gwen. Leon. I’m happy for you both.”

When he turned to Morgana, the air grew thick with distrust and melancholy.

“It’s all right, little brother,” Morgana said, smiling wanly. “All enmity must be cast aside within these four walls. And, besides which, we have bigger things to worry about than all our petty squabbles from hundreds of years back.”

“I hardly count you attempting to destroy me and everything I stood for as a petty squabble,” said Arthur, scowling.

“Arthur, Morgana has asked for my forgiveness and I have given it.” Gwen looked remote and regal, older and more queenly than Gwaine remembered her - from before. He supposed that she had been older than the rest of them when she passed through the veil.  “I believe we have all been brought together for a purpose. We don’t have time to rake up old and forgotten disagreements. ”

The building shuddered again, more wildly than before, as if shaken by a furious hand.

“Your point is well made,” Arthur said. Sitting down with a sigh, he raked his hands through his hair. “We need to find Merlin,” he added, mouth turning down sourly. “Only he can bring stability to the worlds.”

“Morgana, tell Arthur what you saw,” said Gwen. “It might help.”

Morgana shrugged.

“I saw a vision from long ago. Merlin dropping a vial of water onto the floor, and talking to a puddle.”

“That’s no help at all,” said Arthur, frustrated.

“Wait! I haven’t finished. Then, a hand comes out of the puddle - and it’s holding a sword.”

“What can it possibly mean?”  Arthur’s brows knitted together even as the room swayed more strongly than ever before. He put out a hand to steady himself on the table.

But Gwen was looking at Percival.

“The vial, Morgana,” she said. “Did it look at all like that?” She nodded to the fragile glass vial that stood on the bar in front of Percy.

“Why, yes,” said Morgana, standing and staring. “I rather think it did.”

Outside the building a sudden peace descended. It felt like the worlds were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

“The calm before the storm,” whispered Gwen.

Sure enough, a huge explosion rocked the room, and they all ducked under chairs and tables while the building shuddered as if caught in the grip of a huge beast and then cast in anger against a rock.

When the shaking stopped, Gwaine cautiously peeped out from behind the bar.

“Percival!” he yelled. “The vi—”

But the vial teetered on the edge of the bar and Percival was too late to catch it. It fell to the stone flags and smashed, glittering shards littering the room, leaving a dark puddle in its wake. There was a terrible tearing noise, as if the garments of the gods had been ripped in two, and then a sudden silence.

Crawling through the splinters, with scant regard for his knees, the King knelt at the side of the puddle and peered at it.

To his shock, Gwaine saw that the face peering back at him was not Arthur’s but that of a young woman.

“My Lady,”  said the King. “Whoever you are. I beg you. I seek my Sorcerer, so that together we can return Magic to the worlds.”

“I am the Lady of the Lake.” She smiled. “Magic is on his way, through the crack in the fabric of the veil.”

Tendrils of steam rose from the surface of the puddle, and its edges gradually drew together, until it vanished.

The inhabitants of the cafe between the worlds stared at one another.

“Well, she was odd,” said Gwen, a tiny frown appearing between her eyes.

Gwaine sighed. “I need a piss,” he said, opening up the bar and walking out to the loos. “Give me a shout if anyone comes in.”

 

*

 

“No weapons, blah, blah, blah, you know the deal,” said Grettir to the newcomer.

“I carry no steel nor wood,” the sorcerer replied, in a deep, commanding voice, frowning at him from beneath an impressive array of white brows.

“For such as you, steel is not needed.” Grettir didn’t lower his sword. The magical ones were always the craziest. The woman he’d turned away earlier, the one with the overenthusiastic eyeliner and the wild blond hair, had been positively nuts. She'd been back three times. He grimaced at the memory.

“My magic is what I am. Without it I would die.” The sorcerer indicated his torso with a sweep of his hand. 

Grettir shook his head.

“I speak not of your magic, but of your disguise.”

“This is no disguise, but the mantle of age.”

“Then cast it aside, magician, if you care to enter.”

A thunderbolt split the air with a crash so loud that it made the very bones of the earth tremble, as if in fear. 

“Would you take all my dignity from me?” said the magician, in a more normal-sounding voice.

“Come now.” Grettir descended from his plinth. “It’s a prop, and you know it.”

As Grettir watched, those white brows  darkened and thinned, and the great mess of wispy hair atop the sorcerer's head shrunk into a mop of midnight locks. The sorcerer’s bent back straightened until he stood tall and slender as a fresh-faced youth. Only his eyes - sorrowful and fathomless - betrayed his great age.

“That’s a good trick, if you like,” said Grettir, admiringly. “Could you play it on me?”

“Alas, no,” said the magician. He sounded like a young man now, and his smile was both shy and sad. “Will you come in with me? It’s not safe out here.”

With his hands on his hips, Grettir surveyed the violently swirling cosmos as it writhed and glowed. He could sense that his task was not over yet.

“Nah, not yet,” he said. “I’ll watch the show for a bit.”

“Please yourself.”

And with that, Magic entered the cafe between the worlds, closing the door softly behind him.

 

*

 

Arthur couldn’t say what he felt, when Merlin walked through the tavern door, eyebrows raised in a familiar enquiring expression. But he felt tears prick at his eyes, and was almost grateful when the idiot fell to his knees and started to grovel.

“My liege,” said Merlin in a choked voice.

“Get up, idiot! There’s glass on the floor. You’ll cut your knees to ribbons.”  Arthur knew his brusque words didn’t hide the fondness in his voice. He stooped to pull Merlin to his feet, and abruptly found himself wrapped in a tearful hug.

“God, I missed you so much, you arrogant prat.”

“Merlin, if you’ve got snot on my cloak…” It felt awkward at first, having his arms wrapped tightly round Merlin’s skinny shoulders, but then after a while it just felt right, like putting on an old pair of comfortable slippers.

“Shut up, Arthur.”

“That’s my line.”

“Oh, God, it’s really you!”

“Of course it’s me.” Arthur let out a shaky breath. All his cosmic travails, the battles he’d fought across the five galaxies and the treacherous asteroid belts and oort clouds, all the dragons and mercenaries and bandits he’d faced, as he sought his beloved, they all seemed worthwhile for this one perfect moment of homecoming. With one gloved finger, he surreptitiously wiped a single tear from his cheek.

Merlin drew back for a moment, and steely blue eyes fixed his.

“Don’t you ever, ever leave me again, you clotpoll, do you hear?” His voice was quiet and intent.

“I won’t.” said Arthur. “I promise.”

There was a polite-sounding cough from just over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Ahem. This is all very touching, but there’s the small matter of the torn veil and the end of the worlds that needs fixing?” Morgana had always had a knack for bringing him back to the present.

The door opened again, and Arthur turned, in surprise, to see Grettir, clutching Excalibur in one hand, and a blond-haired enchantress in the other.

“Hey, that’s against the rules!” said Gwaine.

"Put me down!" protested the enchantress. 

“She wouldn’t take no for an answer,” said Grettir. “Here. I think this is yours.” His diminutive frame must hide a colossal strength, because he tossed Excalibur, hilt first, towards Arthur without so much as a tiny grunt of effort. “And this, I think belongs to you.” With his other hand, he pushed Morgause over to Morgana.

“Sister!”

“Sister!”

“Well,” growled Arthur, consciously echoing Morgana's words. “This is all very touching…”

“Arthur,” scolded Gwen.

At his side, Merlin laughed, and it was the best sound that Arthur had ever heard.

 

*

 

Fire erupted from Merlin’s splayed fingers as he battled to hold off the onslaught of the demons and the horrors that assaulted them across the void. Arthur stood, a glowing Excalibur in his hand, warding off any the critters and beasties that escaped Merlin’s net.

“Your eyes,” he shouted at Merlin in a brief lull. “Do they always do that?”

“Only when I’m doing magic,” Merlin yelled back, “Or… when I’m very, very aroused.”

Arthur snorted, tried not to imagine what that would look like, and failed.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You should see me when I wave my magic wand around.” Merlin lifted an eyebrow, a habit he'd learned from Gaius years ago.

“Your magic wand... You never have got the hang of flirting, have you, Merlin?” said Arthur, expertly slicing through a twenty-legged, giant lammergeier that suddenly appeared through a tiny crack in the veil and hurtled towards them, claws outstretched.

“Never needed to,” said Merlin, muttering words of command under his breath and then flinging a fireball at a snarling, five-headed snake, which burst into flames of a thousand hues and then vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. “At least…” he stopped for a second and turned to Arthur, biting his lip. “Not until now.”

It was a lie, of course, Arthur had seen how the serving girls in Camelot had simpered and fluttered their lashes at Merlin, years ago. But nevertheless, it made him smile for a moment.

But then he looked up. “Look out!” he cried, thrusting Excalibur through the burning flesh of a tar-scaled manticore that appeared above Merlin’s shoulder, with fire dancing along its sting. With that, they were plunged back into battle with little time for conversation, but Arthur stored tucked away Merlin’s words like a tiny nugget of joy that nestled behind his breastbone.

 

*

 

The aftermath of a battle had always made Arthur feel mopey and depressed.

“Looks like we did it,” said Merlin, gazing out across the quiet, still waters of the lake.

Arthur grunted.

“What’s the matter?” Soft lips gusted across Arthur’s forehead, and he sighed.

“I don’t know. I just… I thought I’d have them back for longer, that’s all.” He picked up a strand of grass, twisted it, and threw it towards the lake where it landed on the surface and floated for a while before vanishing.

“You’ve got me.” Merlin’s voice sounded uncertain. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur smiled.

“There is that.”

“Well, then.”

“Do you think they’re happy?”

The veil had been closed, with them on one side, and their companions, together with the cafe, on the other.

“Shall we find out?” Merlin spoke words of magic into his hand, and blew them out across the lake like kisses.

A few minutes later, a woman, not much more than a girl, emerged, from the waters, her robes miraculously dry and her hair draped around her shoulders. Arthur recognised her as the girl he had seen in the puddle, back on the other side of the veil in the cafe between the worlds.

“My Lady.” Merlin bowed.

“Merlin. Your Majesty.” The girl curtseyed. “Thank you for restoring the worlds.”

“We couldn’t have done it without your help.” Merlin’s voice was gentle.

“Your reward awaits, Merlin.” She indicated Arthur, with a smile.

Blushing, Merlin grinned a huge grin, making his eyes dance and his cheeks rise to meet them.

“A royal reward, indeed! Thank you! And our friends? How fare they?”

“Well enough,” she said, drifting backwards towards her home and starting to sink. “But perhaps you’d care to ask them yourself?”

She vanished and all that was left was a widening ring of ripples that gently lapped against the shore and then was gone.

“What does that mean?” said Arthur.

“Not sure." Merlin shrugged. "Come on, grumpy. Let’s go.” He leaned and tried to tug Arthur to his feet.

“I’m tired.”

“Moan, moan, moan.”

“My shoulder’s sore. Will you give me a bath?”

“There’s a whole lake here for you to bathe in, sire.”

“Insolent idiot.”

“Bossyboots.”

The warm thing behind his sternum expanded as they squabbled, and by the time they got back to Merlin’s cottage, it had filled Arthur up as if he was a tankard and his joy was the finest mead.

 

*

 

The new cafe in Merlin’s village had one sign over the door that declared “Avalon”, and two bouncers - one unfeasibly large, the other uncommonly small. There were three waitresses, one dark, one blond, and one with porcelain skin and huge green eyes, who always seemed to know what the villagers would order, even before they did.

The barista had a gold tooth and a wicked sense of humour, and he flirted with all the old ladies in the village, who pretended to be scandalised, but still came back for more.

The cafe had appeared suddenly, and no-one was quite sure what had been there before, but they did know that it sold the very best blueberry muffins they'd ever tasted.

*THE END*


End file.
